Mother's Milk

by Charles Atkins

  She twisted the knob; it was unlocked. She pushed with her shoulder; it gave a half-inch.

  ‘Move it!’ the male voice said, from the roof side of the door. ‘Now!’

  She pushed again, and felt frustration well – they’d barricaded the door. ‘Jerod!’ she shouted. ‘It’s me, Dr. Conyors.’ Not sure if he was even out there. ‘Wait for me! Don’t run.’

  She saw the top of Ed’s head. ‘Hurry up. I can’t get it open; they’re getting away!’

  Hobbs turned the final bend and looked up at her. He bent to catch his breath. ‘How many and are they armed?’

  ‘How should I know? We’ve got to get the door open.’

  ‘Crap,’ Hobbs said, making it up the last half-flight to the roof door. ‘If you get me killed, I’m never talking to you again.’

  She said nothing as the two of them threw their weight against the door. ‘On my count,’ he said, ‘one, two – three.’ It opened a good four inches. ‘Again, one, two – three.’ This time they got another half foot, and before Hobbs could stop her, Barrett wiggled through, scraping her shin on the heavy air-conditioning unit that had been shoved against the door.

  Outside, she squinted against the bright western sun that caught her full face. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, heard the girl Cora shout up from the little park. ‘There! They’re running away!’ She pivoted at the sound of a sneaker scraping on metal and saw a man’s hand disappear down a ladder on the other side.

  ‘Wait!’ she shouted, and sprinted toward the fleeing youth, a hope kindled. Perhaps it was Jerod. When she got to the edge she looked over, and sure enough, there he was, not moving, his arms hugging the ladder. On the roof next door a dark-haired young man looked back at him, ‘Come on!’ And then he saw Barrett. ‘You’re so fucked,’ he said, and took off across the second roof.

  Barrett could see another three teens scurrying across the rooftops. They were all dressed in the kind of clothes you get at Gap, Abercrombie’s, or one of the other chains that peddle youthful individuality but deliver a homogeneous mix of distressed denim and shirts with the store’s logo. They moved fast, like roaches when the lights go on, there was no way Hobbs or any of the backup that was now pulling up down the block would catch them.

  ‘Jerod,’ she said, keeping her voice soft. ‘Jerod, it’s me. It’s going to be OK.’

  ‘I didn’t run away,’ he said, looking up at her.

  ‘I know and I’d love you to tell me what happened.’

  ‘I will, can you get me some of those pills?’

  ‘Sure,’ she smiled. ‘You realize I don’t have them on me.’

  He climbed up, a twisted grin on his face. ‘You’re not holding?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ and she gave him her hand as he stepped back onto the tar-paper roof.

  ‘I am so screwed up,’ he said, looking at her. ‘I tried to get a hold of you, but I couldn’t wait. I thought maybe if I came back somebody would know something about Carly …’ His smile vanished. ‘No one knows shit, or else they’re lying.’

  Hobbs had finally made it through the door; he had his gun in hand. He took in Barrett and Jerod. ‘No one else?’ he asked.

  She pointed across the rooftops heading east. ‘All gone, like a herd of mall rats.’ She stopped and looked at Jerod, in his new jeans, bright red Converse sneakers, and trendy striped polo shirt. ‘Who’s been getting you these clothes?’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she said. ‘You held stuff back and look where that got you.’

  ‘He tried to kill me,’ Jerod said. ‘I thought he might, I almost thought that I didn’t care … I do. I don’t want to die and I don’t want to be a junkie.’

  ‘Good,’ Barrett said, trying to figure out how and where she could keep him safe. ‘But please just answer the questions. Who buys the clothes? They look new.’

  ‘Marky. He tells them where to shop, what to get. They were supposed to look like college students. He’s the one who gave Bobby and Ashley the killer dope. He broke me out of the hospital, he gave me a few bags, and all night just asked questions.’ Despite the heat that pulsed up from the black rooftop, he shivered and pulled his arms in tight.

  ‘We’ve got to get him out of here,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘But where?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think he’s safe at either the center or back at Croton.’

  ‘That leaves lockup,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘Please don’t put me in a cell,’ Jerod said. ‘I’m already sick and it’s going to get a thousand times worse.’

  ‘We need to keep you safe,’ Barrett said, trying to come up with something, ‘and if you’re serious, we have to think through how we can get you detoxed.’

  She ran through options, batting each one away as either unsafe or impractical. The kid had no insurance, so a private facility was out of the question. Croton and the forensic center had major leaks, one of which nearly got him killed, and the same could be true for any of the state hospitals. Jerod was an escapee from Croton, although no charges had yet been filed about his gun-waving episode, a jail cell might keep him safe, but no way he’d get the treatment he needed. The one place that popped to mind that would actually work was wrong, dead wrong … and yet. ‘Hobbs,’ she said, ‘I need you to talk me out of something.’

  He shook his head. ‘Right, like that’s something I’ve ever been able to do.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Janice looked at Chase in her doorway, and hated herself. He’d covered his hair in a baseball cap and had on shades; it was something of a disguise. He’d been to her apartment only a few times, always against her better judgment, but years into this relationship she knew that it was all against her better judgment, and yet … just looking at him made something ache inside.

  She let him into her comfortable two-bedroom, two-bath apartment and watched her three precious darlings swarm his ankles. He closed the door, put his black leather briefcase on the floor, and knelt down to pet each one, saying their names, ‘Taffy, Lily … Buttercup.’ Buttercup, the smallest of the three white shih-tzus, butted her head against his hand, and nipped playfully at his fingers when he tried to pull back. ‘You look pretty,’ he commented, still crouched among the excited dogs.

  ‘We shouldn’t meet here,’ she said, glad that he’d noticed the effort she’d put in. Her softly draped Grecian pale-blue dress floated to mid-calf, and exposed a generous expanse of cleavage and back. Her hair was down and she’d run a curling iron through the ends. The lights were dim and cast amber shadows that hid the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. When she glanced in the mirror … from a distance, she caught traces of the beautiful woman she’d been a decade or more ago.

  ‘I was careful,’ he said. ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘Fine, but first let me feed my babies. Lily, Taffy, Buttercup, let’s have a treat.’

  The fluffy little dogs wagged their tails as Janice led them into the galley kitchen off the hall. She reached up into a cabinet, pulled out three cans of gourmet dog food, put them in matching pottery bowls, and placed them on separate mats at the far end. ‘Did Marky take care of that boy?’ she asked, closing the kitchen door and leading Chase back to the living room, with its plush ivory carpet and overstuffed furnishings, all in soft shades of white and peach, all purchased after Avery’s death.

  ‘That’s what we need to talk about. It’s time to pull up stakes. We’re taking too many risks. Between this Jerod catastrophe and that damn videophone …’

  ‘I see,’ she said, feeling as though her brain were split in two whenever he was around. One part of her needed to focus on business, while the other clamored to lock herself on his full lips, to strip him naked right there in her all-white cocoon. She moved in close, catching the whiff of orange. ‘And how will you keep up your loft? I know your expenses … and your tastes. What will you do for money? The scholarship is well and good, but you still need at least ten K a month for the taxes and maintenance fees.’<
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  ‘True, I’m going to have to put it on the market. Do what everyone else does, live within my means.’

  ‘Really.’ She didn’t buy it. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘So you’re going to sell Dom’s loft … that should keep you solvent for a while. Of course the capital-gains taxes will take a chunk, but even so.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’ll get the one-time credit.’

  ‘So you’ve really thought this through.’ She played along, wondering what he was up to, as she turned her back and poured two generous Scotches from a Swedish crystal decanter. ‘You never answered my question, Chase,’ she said, handing him a drink, and placing a hand on the front of his leather jacket. ‘What happened to the boy? Did Marky finish it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Chase took the drink and got a clear look at her. God, she’s old. His mind raced, as he thought through all the potential missteps, needing to keep track of everything he touched. ‘Jerod is no longer among the living, but this whole mess made me realize we have too much at stake. These kids, all of them, are just a bunch of loose ends that need to be tied up.’

  ‘I thought you said that Jerod had run away.’

  ‘He did, but he got him back and mixed some sufentanil in his dope. Went to sleep and didn’t feel a thing.’

  ‘I don’t need the details, just that it’s done.’

  ‘The details bother you,’ he commented. ‘It’s exactly what we did with Avery and Krista.’

  ‘No,’ she said, giving him her annoyed face, where she scrunched up her mouth as if tasting something bad, ‘it’s unnecessary and unpleasant … So tell me what your big plans are to “pull up stakes”.’

  ‘Nothing fancy, but we need to think it through. I need to know that you’ll be OK with it.’

  ‘People will be upset,’ she commented; he could tell she wasn’t taking him seriously. ‘Our customers will not be happy, there’s going to be a lot of puking kids in the dormitory … not to mention our suppliers. You think they’ll just say, “Oh, fun doing business, have a nice life”?’

  ‘Good,’ he said, ‘I’m glad you’re here to help me think through the details. And not to be pushy, but you did say you’d give me another fifteen K when Jerod was out of the way …’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘I assume you want that now.’

  ‘I would.’ He kept his expression blank, just the hint of a smile.

  ‘Stay here; I’ll get it.’

  ‘So,’ he continued from the couch, ‘the customers will just be out of luck, oh well. It’s not like there aren’t a few thousand dope-dealers in the greater Manhattan area. We were just very good at a niche market.’

  ‘And the suppliers?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve had Marky handle all the pick-ups for the last three years,’ he said, letting his voice drift toward the bedroom where she’d gone, ‘and before that I was careful that they never saw my face. They’ve always met a blond guy with sunglasses, as far as they know it’s been Marky the whole time.’ He eased up from the couch, and silently put on propylene gloves and then dug his hands back in his jacket pockets.

  ‘And the other business?’ she asked. ‘Our little auctions?’

  He moved slowly toward the bedroom, the door was open and he heard her from inside her spacious closet. He stood outside the bedroom, his ears strained for the sound. Making his voice softer, as though he were still on the couch, ‘You like those,’ he commented. ‘I can’t help notice how turned on they get you.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, but the cash is good. I can survive without the other, and maybe you’re right; it’s gotten too risky.’

  He heard the steel click, and closed the remaining distance of thick carpet on silent feet. A gloved hand slid from his pocket. He caught sight of her back, one hand on the wall, the other pulling the handle of the safe. He felt something akin to nostalgia as he raised the small handgun and silencer, and in a single fluid motion pointed it at the back of her head, steadied it with his other hand, and pulled.

  There was a wet cracking noise, and his hands jerked back. Excited barks erupted from the closed kitchen, and a dull thud as Janice’s knees buckled and she fell down and then forward, one hand still on the open door of the safe. As she tumbled, he grabbed at the door, fearful that it would close and lock. Her fingers grasped weakly at his, the nails searching for the flesh of his wrist, but found only gloves, and then they fell away.

  He counted to ten, reached down, and checked her pulse. He felt a little something against his gloved fingers, and then nothing. ‘Bye-bye, Janice,’ he said, as he stepped over her and looked in the safe. Inside, he saw neatly stacked bundles of cash, bearer bonds, some jewelry boxes, and the flat leather cases that held her collection of gold coins. It had become an obsession with her since Avery’s death – liquid assets. The financial ruin her husband left, his secret double life, making her into a woman possessed. ‘Never again,’ she said as she was confronted with the lies and the near-financial ruin that followed his death. Her gold coins – imminently liquid – were a temptation, but he knew that he had to stay on script. Deviations would only create problems – devil’s in the detail. He glanced at his watch. He’d been here less than twenty minutes. He stepped away from the safe and grabbed a heavy floral terry-cloth robe from the rack. He looked at the entry wound on the back of Janice’s head, a nickel-sized circle of dark-red ooze. He tilted her head to search for the exit wound, hoping there wasn’t one. Unfortunately, there was. ‘Too bad,’ he muttered, as he quickly wrapped her head in the robe, made sure it would stay in place by lashing it on tight with the belt, and then dead-lifted her over his shoulder. He carried her to the hall closet, and while balancing her with one hand, pushed back a row of coats. He stepped in, leaned forward, and let her drop down among the umbrellas, outerwear, and cardboard boxes where she kept the wooden leaves for her dining-room table. In the kitchen the dogs were going crazy. He thought briefly of killing them, but that seemed too harsh even for him. They’d done nothing wrong, they had no guilt. Janice, on the other hand, if there were in fact a God, would have much to answer for. He looked down at her crumpled body, her blue eyes open and staring at the wall. ‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling down a couple coats to conceal her body and then closing the door.

  He retrieved his briefcase and returned to the bedroom. He took the stacks of cash – $10,000 per bundle, two hundred twenty in all. He also took a small leather notebook that contained her pass codes and the numbers of her Cayman Island accounts, as well as the stacks of bearer bonds that had to be worth another hundred K. Lastly, he took a small wooden box that contained glass ampoules of sufentanil, a synthetic opiate used by surgeons that was a hundred times more potent than heroin. He then rearranged the jewel cases and the boxes of heavy coins, so that someone looking into the safe for the first time wouldn’t think anything had been taken. He snuck a quick glance at the coins, Krugerrands, antique American eagles and double eagles. The three boxes weighed pounds each and some of the antiques were rare and worth tens of thousands. He felt his rage, at how much she’d kept from him – Got what she deserved, and despite what he’d told himself, he grabbed one of the coin cases and shoved it into his briefcase. He then closed the safe, careful not to have it latch, and moved back through the living room. He picked up his glass of Scotch and wiped down any surface he might have touched. He emptied the liquor down the bathroom sink and washed it away. Quickly drying the glass he replaced it in the living-room hutch. Standing there, he looked around. What have I missed? What have I missed? It had been just half an hour; right on schedule. He tried to calm himself. It’s perfect. He mentally retraced his every step through her apartment – no loose ends. This evening into night would mark the start of a new life – one rung falling away as the next appeared. Bye-bye, Janice, with her crumbs of money, saggy breasts and veiny thighs, bye-bye. The vision that took shape in his mind’s eye was glorious and heady, the successful surgeon Dr. Chase Strand and
his beautiful wife, Dr. Barrett Strand.

  With his hands still in the purple hospital gloves, he peered through Janice’s fish-eye – the hall was clear. He turned the knob, and keeping the door on latch, headed out and down through the stairwell

  NINETEEN

  Ruth was the first to give voice to what all four of them knew was a big problem. ‘Dear,’ she said, while busily preparing a pitcher of iced mint tea in Barrett’s galley kitchen, ‘it’s not my business, and I’m sure you have your reasons …’ She looked around at Hobbs, who was on his cell, the boy with his wild hair and skinny arms covered in tattoos who was so clearly sick, and then her daughter, with her untucked shirt and navy suit that looked as though she’d worn it while playing some contact sport … in the mud. ‘I’ve never known you to bring home a patient.’

  ‘I don’t want to get you in trouble,’ Jerod said. ‘This is nice and all, but you shouldn’t do this. You’ve got a baby here … What if …’ He looked at Max, who was staring back at him from the crib on the far side of the couch. ‘You can’t take risks like that, not for me.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Barrett said, as her mother came around with the iced tea. ‘They don’t know where you are, or where I live,’ she said, realizing that might not be true. More importantly, this plan to keep Jerod from harm was way outside the rules of her agency, not to mention the bounds of professional ethics.

  ‘No luck,’ Hobbs said, clicking his cell back onto his belt. ‘I can’t get the manpower. Schmitt said I could keep him in lockup, but beyond that he couldn’t free up anything more. Low priority.’

  ‘Not good,’ Barrett said, realizing they were on their own.

  ‘No,’ Jerod said, ‘I’d rather stay on the street than get you in trouble.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Barrett said, trying to think through to the next step. ‘What did we see up there, Jerod? How many kids live in that building?’

  ‘Maybe ten,’ he said, his eyes on the small bottle of pills they’d picked up from the pharmacy. ‘They’ve got the two apartments on the top floor.’